you make it impossible to rain glitter
by child of gust
Summary: They're on their side of the story. Set of drabbles. / MackTanner.
1. Chapter 1

**Set of drabbles. Short stuff, bunch of silly ideas. Small scenes. Set after (in my head) when the gang stayed in the "modern" world**.

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(shadows over you)  
**tannermack**

Mack cast shadows, and they are ugly.

Tanner doesn't like to think Mack is ugly - because she isn't. In fact, she's perhaps one of the most beautiful girl Tanner has set his eyes upon: what, with those eyes and those smiles and those little ways when she scrunches up her nose, gosh she's a _masterpiece_. But even when she's the most prettiest girl to walk on the fact of the earth, she carries shadows - _scars_. She refuses to talk about them, but Tanner fights, bleeds and crumble - but he learns them.

He learns the names, dates and scenes. Sees them behind closed eyelids, urges to touch and caress and heal - but what's done is done. Mack has been broken and stomped at, but as long as she's walking, Tanner's fine. Heck, Tanner's more than fine. He'd be more than willing to do more, to see the glow on her cheek, the saltwater caught up in her hair, the sands on her cheeks - gosh, he would like that very much. He would see her cry and swells up in rage and thumps with anger and maybe even bleeds up to the point where her wish is to die, but he will do _it_. He will not fail her.

He will see her rise up again - maybe even kisses him with those kisses of hers, tangle their feet together in a mess and will make him more of that chocolate drink he seems to be enjoying so much.

Yeah, that would be nice.

So Tanner would not budge and run away because Mack may casts shadows, but he isn't afraid of them.


	2. Chapter 2

**It's a new day and a new fic to write, a new pairing to discover and more possibilities to unravel. It's whatever. Enjoy**. **/ set of drabbles, because I can**.

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(what does it take for you to stay?)

Mack secretly thinks it's pathetic.

Sad, ugly, horrid, bitter, dark - but most importantly, pathetic. Tanner is such a gentleman, quite an idiot he is, but a gentleman nonetheless. Smiles too sweet, touches too soft, and never really raises his voice about anything, or to anyone. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve watching her drinking away, mocking him for her own stupid fucked-up mistakes, and watched as she slowly wasted her life away; gave it away to the bottles of liquor.

_Poison_, he called them. Poison.

But he never walk away - never stop trying to persuade her, never stop repeating the same bloody word ("It's not your fault, Mack."), never stop waiting by her side, waiting to catch her fall. Always the same routine: she'd come to the bar, order bunch of stuff she once swore to never touch (to never be the replica of her good-for-nothing father), and he'll be somewhere close. By the time midnight falls, she'd have too much and he'd carry her home - she struggles, mock, punch (she'll do anything for him to just let her be on the moment) but he never lets go.

She sometimes cry.

He'll open the door to her apartment with her in his arm (she doesn't know how he does it, but she never ask) and he'll set her up on the bed, sometimes the couch. He'll touch her face, push the messy brown strands of hair away and wipe those (pathetic!) tears with his thumb. He'll say words she silently longs to hear, and leaves her when she never says anything more.

But tonight, as Tanner once again carries her, she sobs into the crook of his neck - she thinks how pathetic this is. How pathetic _she_ is. "Hey, Tanner." Her voice is hoarse - she seems to be snuggling closer, the night air travels across her skin.

He looks down, the softness of his face perplexes her. _Is he really alive_? She sometimes think. "I never like to drink the poison either," she hiccups, sounds ashamed. She wants to defend herself, though, by saying that the liquor soothes her down sometimes (not really) but nothing comes out.

He kind of smiles - a genuine one, one that comforts her more in one way. "I know," he answers, a whisper against the wind.

They reach her apartment soon enough. He opens the door and sets her on the bed, when she insists so. Her bed is small, her room is untidy. It wasn't always like this, she bitterly thought. She feels hollow now, as Tanner sets her down on the cold mattress, his warmth slowly leaving her body. He doesn't touch her this time, just switches the bedside lamp off. She thinks she sees him smile again, a silent wave of goodnight: I'll be leaving now.

She grabs his hand quickly - like a natural reflex. She watches his face changes, surprised, shocked. But he doesn't move his feet - he isn't walking out the door. "Stay," she manages through her scratchy throat. She lets a beat passes, before she repeats - voice clearer and louder. "Stay, please?"

Tanner comes closer, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles (she feels the butterflies, but she brushes it off as the liquor working out on her). "Are you sure?"

She nods slowly, closing her eyes at the way he touches her. "I want you here. I-Is that okay?"

Tanner suddenly smiles, his eyes shining a bit in the dark. "Y-yeah. It's fine. Oh Mack, I'm so worried about you." His face changes now, a frown etching on his lips. Worried. He's so worried. She could see it now.

"Stay," she fumbles her fingers until it touches the lines of his jaw, the underside of his cheek. "I think I'll be better tomorrow."

Her words are promises. For him. For her.

He does stay.


End file.
